Here There Be Dragons
by Kenya Starflight
Summary: No one believed Bluestreak when he claimed to have seen a dragon while out on patrol... until the Autobots found themselves under attack. Now they must act quickly to save these incredible creatures - and themselves - from Megatron's cunning.
1. Chapter 1

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This isn't intended to be an in-depth story at all, but rather, written as if it were an episode of the original show. Enjoy this random plot bunny that's been chewing on my brain for the past week... or at least part one of it..._

**Part 1**

It was an otherwise uneventful day in the Ark's recreation room when Bluestreak screeched to a halt in the doorway, his tires smoking, and transformed with a look of wild-opticed excitement on his faceplate. All optics and visors were on the silver gunner as he panted, gulping air through his vents in an effort to cool his engine after that exertion. When he finally managed to speak, it was in a rushed and eager babble that few managed to understand.

"Whoa, slow down, Blue," Jazz advised, walking up and placing a calming hand on Bluestreak's shoulder. "Cool your engines an' speak one word at a time, 'kay?"

Bluestreak nodded, took a moment to compose himself, and began speaking in a voice only slightly slower than before.

"It was huge!" he gushed, spreading his arms wide to hint at some great size. "Flew right over me, I swear I could have reached up and touched it... where's Hound and Beachcomber, they'll wanna hear about this..."

"Hear about what?" asked Hound, perking up. "You've got me curious."

"He's got all of us curious," huffed Ratchet, leaving his chess game with Prowl and going to stand beside Jazz. "Start at the beginning, Bluestreak, and tell us what you saw."

"I was out on patrol," Bluestreak explained. "Lucky thing I was too, 'cause I'm normally not on patrol in the evenings, but Smokescreen's still in repair bay and I volunteered to take over his shift, but anyhow, I was just on my way back to the Ark when I decided to take a shortcut through the forest, 'cause I wanted to get back in time to see 'Family Guy' with the twins, but I don't care about 'Family Guy' anymore because this was so much cooler..."

"Get to the point!" Brawl bellowed from the back of the room.

"I'm getting there!" Bluestreak insisted. "Well anyhow, I was on my way back when I drove into a little clear spot in the trees, which was a good thing because the trees might have hidden it otherwise... and this HUGE shadow passed over me! I thought it might have been a Decepticon at first, but it seemed the wrong shape and I didn't hear thrusters or antigravs, so I transformed and got my gun out just in case and looked up... and I saw it!"

"Saw what?" Ratchet demanded. "What is this 'it' you're talking about?"

Bluestreak grinned widely. "It was a dragon!" he exclaimed.

Dead silence. Then Prowl stood up and gave the other Datsun a stern look. "Are you certain, Bluestreak?"

"I'm positive!" Bluestreak insisted. "An honest-to-Primus dragon! Just like in those fantasy novels Fireflight's always letting me borrow..."

"Which reminds me, you still haven't given me my iBrisingr/i book back..." Fireflight piped up at that moment, but shrank down with a bashful look when Air Raid and Slingshot gave him silencing glares.

Ratchet scowled. "Bluestreak, there's no such thing as dragons. They're just a creature from the humans' mythology, and nothing more. You probably just saw a low-flying airplane or something."

"This wasn't an airplane!" Bluestreak protested. "It had horns and scales and four legs, and airplanes don't have those things! At least not any that I've seen. And it looked at me! Do airplanes have eyes?"

"Aw, Blue," Jazz said in a kind of pitying voice, patting his shoulder. "Sounds like th' heat got t' your processor out there. Why don't ya let me walk with ya t' medbay an'..."

"It's NOT the heat!" Bluestreak insisted. "I wasn't seeing things! And it wasn't a plane or a Decepticon or a really big bird, it was a dragon! Or at least a creature that looked like a dragon! I thought this would be exciting news..."

But already the young gunner was losing the interest of his fellow Autobots, who one by one began returning to their activities, some whispering and chuckling over the story, others ignoring him entirely. Prowl looked at the chessboard, as if contemplating going back to his game, then walked up to Bluestreak and looked him in the optic.

"Bluestreak," Prowl informed him, "I would like to believe your story. But it just isn't logical. Dragons do not exist. They are the invention of the humans. Surely if such creatures existed, they would have verified their existence by now. And if one or more such creatures existed in the vicinity of the Ark, surely we would have discovered them by now."

"But I DID just discover..." Bluestreak countered weakly, a note of desperation in his voice.

"Blue," Jazz said sympathetically, "it's all right, man. Everyone sees things that ain't there sometimes. Even our optics glitch from time t' time. Now c'mon, let's head t' th' lounge where th' twins are an' make sure ya don't miss 'Family Guy'..."

Bluestreak blasted out a sigh. "No thanks, Jazz. Not in the mood anymore." And he turned and walked off.

Ratchet watched the Datsun go, considering. "Think there could be anything to his story? Blue's not given to lying or making stuff up to cause trouble."

"His story is illogical," Prowl countered, sitting down before the chessboard and making his next move. "It might not be a lie, but it could simply be his sensory systems malfunctioning. I'd suggest a maintenance scan in the near future."

"Will do," Ratchet replied. "Poor kid, though. He seemed so sure of what he'd seen." He nudged a rook forward. "Checkmate. Gotta run to medbay and take care of something, see you later."

"Wait, that's not checkmate," Prowl protested, but Ratchet was already gone.

***

Bluestreak flopped onto his recharge berth that night with a weary sigh. What a night. When he'd left the base that afternoon for patrol, he had never imagined that his return and report would make him the laughingstock of the base. Primus, he'd hoped someone would believe his story, but instead everyone saw him as a sunstruck crazy. And what was worse, all evening he'd been hearing mechs whispering behind his back, no doubt passing his story throughout the Ark.

He rubbed at his optics, then at his temples, trying to fight an oncoming CPU ache. Had he really imagined it? His optics were just fine, according to his readout, so had his processors simply shown him something that wasn't there?

He thought back on his patrol, focusing on the trip home when he'd paused in that clearing to transform and work a rock out of one of his tires. A slight chill had passed over him as a shadow had fallen across his back, and he'd jumped to his feet and drawn his rifle, ready to fire overhead at the oncoming Decepticon...

But it hadn't been a Decepticon. It hadn't even been a cybernetic being. An enormous beast had soared overhead, so close he had nearly reached up to touch it before catching himself. Easily fifty feet from reptilian snout to spade-tipped tail, it's massive wingspan had cast the entire clearing in shadow. It's scales had gleamed a pearly white in the sunlight, with sky-blue markings swirling across the wing membranes, and flashing violet eyes had caught him and held him in their slit-pupiled stare.

His rifle had fallen, forgotten, to his feet, and would remain there until long after the creature had looped around and flown back the way it came, leaving the gunner gaping after it in wonder.

_Wonder if it lives around here,_ he mused now, folding his arms behind his head. _Wonder if it has a nest, or a cave or whatever. Hey, maybe there's more of them. Maybe next time I have a day off I can go looking... it was flying northeast, if I just follow it's route..._

But he didn't know if the creature was friendly or not. Maybe it would be more prudent to wait until he had at least one fellow Autobot on his side in this matter. Then they could go out together and investigate.

He offlined his optics and tried to relax, but images of the dragon kept haunting his processor and invading his dream cycles.

***

Autobots were not notable for their cruelty, but they could and did have their callous moments. The aftermath of Bluestreak's incredible story was one of those instances -- even days afterward, he had to endure the ribbing and teasing of his comrades, ranging from the good-natured to the downright nasty.

"Hey Blue, just how big WAS this thing ya saw?" asked Inferno during the morning refueling, smirking a little.

"Um... about Dinobot-sized, actually," Bluestreak replied, not catching right away that the fire truck was being snarky. "HUGE wingspan too, but it would have to be big to support that big a body..."

Inferno laughed. "Don't have t' make up exact dimensions for it, Blue. I was just kiddin'."

"You asked..." Bluestreak explained lamely, but Inferno had already walked off. The gunner sighed and left the room, continuing down the hall and bracing himself for the inevitable attack. He didn't have long to wait.

"Hey Bluestreak, been off critter-watching lately?" Powerglide cackled. "Seen any unicorns? Or ooh, maybe a flock of fairies! I hear it's their nesting season."

"Ha ha," Bluestreak huffed. "Leave me alone."

"Just don't get any bright ideas to start feeding the dragons," giggled Sideswipe. "The humans won't take too kindly to their fair maidens being used as kibble..."

"Or start playing Saint George with it," Cliffjumper added, getting in on the game. "Locking Carly in a tower and fighting the dragon to rescue the damsel in distress..."

"If he has to rescue a damsel in distress, wouldn't it make more sense for him to lock Spike in the tower and rescue HIM?" asked Slingshot.

"Spike's not a damsel," Sideswipe pointed out.

Slingshot shrugged. "So?"

"Will you guys cut it out?" Bluestreak demanded, and stormed off. The gathered mechs only laughed and broke into a chorus of "Puff the Magic Dragon" as he strode away. Bluestreak clenched his fists, wishing he could deck someone without being told off by an officer for it...

"Bluestreak..."

"If I hear one more comment about the dragon, so help me!" Bluestreak roared, whirling to face the speaker... and shutting up almost instantly. "Um... yes, sir?"

Optimus Prime sighed and set a hand on the gunner's shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me you were being harassed? I would have put a stop to it."

"I didn't want to bother you, sir."

"It's never a bother to lend my troops a hand, Bluestreak," Prime told him. "But back to what I wished to speak to you about. This dragon story of yours..."

"Am I in trouble for it?"

"No," Prime assured him. "But you seem adamant about declaring it to be fact. Would it not save yourself a great deal of trouble to simply admit you might have imagined it?"

So not even Prime believed him. He guessed he should have expected that, but it still hurt. "I can't do that, Prime. Because that would be lying. I know nobody believes me, but I can't deny what I saw just because it seems impossible to everyone else. And I'm not going to blow it off as something I imagined either. I saw what I saw."

Prime nodded, seeming a bit resigned. "If that's the way you feel, Bluestreak, I won't press it further. I'll see what I can do about the harassment, at least." He shook Bluestreak's hand, then turned and walked off.

***

"Bluestreak?"

"Huh?" He turned and glanced down. "Oh, hi Sparkplug. You're not here to make fun of me, are you?"

"Why would I do that, Bluestreak?" the middle-aged human asked with a slight smile. "I was just going to ask if you'd be willing to drive me to the library."

"Oh, sure." He folded himself into his Datsun mode, swinging his driver-side door open. "I'd be happy to, I've been hoping for an excuse to get away for awhile."

Sparkplug patted his dashboard as he climbed in. "I can only imagine. Bumblebee told Spike and me what you were going through, and I have to say, I'm pretty disappointed in a lot of the Autobots' behavior toward you. You'd think they'd treat one of their own better."

"Do YOU think I'm making it up, Sparkplug?" Bluestreak asked as he made his way through the halls and out of the base. "Or that I just imagined it?"

"I think you saw SOMEthing," Sparkplug replied. "And you're not a liar or a prankster, so if you say you saw a dragon... then I'm inclined to believe that you saw a dragon, or something close to it."

Warmth flooded Bluestreak's spark. Finally, someone believed him. "Thanks, Sparkplug. Means a lot to me."

"Not a problem, Blue."

The talk turned to more idle, everyday matters as Bluestreak drove, finally pulling up before the library. Sparkplug hopped out of the vehicle and disappeared into the building, promising to be quick. Bluestreak didn't really mind waiting, though -- it was peaceful and quiet here, without any of his comrades to poke fun at him for his story. Even the eager kids who broke free from their mom to poke at the Autobot symbol on his hood and engage him in eager conversation were a welcome respite from what he was going through back at the Ark.

Finally Sparkplug returned, dumping a formidable stack of books on Bluestreak's seat before sitting down. "Whew... I don't envy librarians, having to haul books around all day. They're heavier than people expect."

"Planning on doing a lot of reading?" asked Bluestreak, flashing his headlights at the kids in farewell before pulling out of the parking lot.

"Actually, these are for you." He pointed off to his right. "Stop at the park there, and we'll do some research. Maybe we can uncover a little more information on this dragon you saw."

Bluestreak pulled up to the curb to let Sparkplug climb out. "Aw shucks, you didn't have to do that..."

"It's purely selfish, Bluestreak," Sparkplug laughed. "I'm just as curious about this beast as you are."

Once Sparkplug had exited the vehicle Bluestreak transformed, and the two of them sat down under an oak tree and leafed through the books, which turned out to mostly be mythology books and the like. Bluestreak found himself critically studying their illustrations, his optics picking out the differences between the dragon he'd seen and the dragons depicted here.

"This is all wrong," he pointed out. "The dragon I saw had four legs. This one only has two."

"My guess is whoever drew the picture had never seen a real dragon," Sparkplug suggested. "Or it could be a subspecies. Maybe you should try drawing what you saw, so you don't forget what it looks like."

"Oh, I've got an image of it saved to my CPU," Bluestreak assured him. "Besides, I'm not much of an artist."

"Why don't you share that image?" Sparkplug suggested. "Maybe Prime and the others will believe you if you have solid proof like that."

"I dunno," Bluestreak said sadly. "I was kind of hoping they'd believe my words and not NEED proof."

"Hey, cheer up," Sparkplug told him, lightly punching his leg. "And keep reading. You might learn something useful."

Inaccurate pictures or not, Bluestreak couldn't help but be fascinated by what he read, and maybe a little terrified. In many of the books, especially the older ones, dragons were described as cruel, cunning beasts with hot fiery breath like a Dinobot's and poisonous blood. They seemed to delight in terrorizing humans and often demanded meals of the best of farmers' flocks and herds, or even fair maidens. They hoarded gold and jewels, could hypnotize their prey with their sinister gaze, had rock-hard scales with few weak spots...

But as he read on he found accounts that contradicted that monstrous portrayal. The Chinese portrayed dragons as wise and powerful guardians with control over the elements, who brought rain and guarded rivers and lakes. Other stories described them as intelligent beings that, while not strictly good, didn't go out of their way to cause harm to humans either. In certain cases they were seen as sources of wisdom, or even as gods. And some dragons apparently even forged powerful bonds with humans and carried them on their backs as dragonriders.

_I wonder which kind of dragon the one I saw is,_ he mused, flipping through a copy of _Dragonlover's Guide to Pern_ as carefully as he could so as not to rip a page by accident._ I didn't SEE a rider, but maybe this one's rider was somewhere else... and it didn't look like the Chinese ones, those don't have wings. I sure hope it wasn't one of the nasty kinds..._

"Cheers, Bluestreak."

"Huh?" His head jerked up at that voice. "Oh, hi Hoist."

"Glad you could make it," Sparkplug said warmly as the green tow truck transformed and moved to stand beside them. "Bluestreak and I were just doing some research on his incredible sighting."

"Ah yes, the dragon," Hoist replied, nodding. "I'd heard tell of the tale, but I hadn't had time to ask Bluestreak about it. I was hoping a fellow dragon-watcher might wish to compare stories..."

Bluestreak's jaw fell open. "You saw it too?"

"I seriously doubt it was the same one you saw, seeing as I was almost a thousand years in the past when I saw mine," Hoist answered. "And Spike and Warpath saw it as well. I'm wagering they kept quiet about it so as to save face, however -- humans aren't exactly partial to tales of the fantastic, and the minibots are probably putting pressure on Warpath to stay quiet."

"I'm just glad I'm not the only one who's seen something like this," Bluestreak said gratefully. "I was starting to wonder if I really HAD just imagined it."

"I know the feeling all too well," Hoist said sympathetically. "Do tell me what this dragon of yours looked like."

"Um... it had four legs and wings, like this one." He picked up one of the illustrated guides to mythological creatures and showed Hoist the picture. "Except the one I saw was white instead of green and not as spikey. Kind of an iridescent white, actually. And it had horns -- two big ones kind of like an antelope's, and a cluster of smaller ones that went down the back of its neck."

"What did the wings look like?" asked Sparkplug curiously. "Like a bird's or a bat's, or something completely different?"

"Batlike," Bluestreak replied. "And kind of see-through -- not like glass, but more like holding a sheet of paper up to the sun... translucent's the word, I guess..."

"Would it happen to be of the fire-breathing persuasion?" asked Hoist suddenly.

"Yeah, why?"

Hoist pointed up. "I think your dragon has returned... with friends."

Bluestreak glanced up excitedly... only for that excitement to quickly shift to dread. Half a dozen dragons swooped down on the two Autobots and their human friend, eyes glittering savagely and deep, piercing roars thundering from their throats. The lead dragon, an emerald-green beast with a lighter green belly, folded its wings and dove like a falcon, claws extended and white-hot fire bursting from its jaws.

"Look out!" he shouted, and in one swift movement he scooped Sparkplug up in his hands and dove to the side. Hoist flung himself to the other side as a sheet of blue-gold flame carpeted the area where they had just been sitting. The tree they had been sitting beneath burst into flame, and the stacks of books were reduced to piles of ash in the blackened grass.

"I think we can safely assume they're not friendly," Hoist noted, drawing his gun.

"Sparkplug, run!" Bluestreak ordered, setting the human down. "Find cover!"

"I'm not going to run like a coward..." Sparkplug protested.

Another dragon, this one scarlet mottled with gold, blasted flame at them, this time catching Bluestreak's left doorwing. He screamed as the searing heat warped the metal and practically melted the joint, fusing the wing to his shoulder. Dropping to one knee, he yanked his ion rifle out of subspace and fired, aiming for the creature's own wing. Despite everything he really didn't want to kill these creatures, but neither did he want to see Hoist or Sparkplug hurt.

The red dragon screamed in agony as the blast struck its wing, crisping the membranes and charring scales and hide and bone. It plummeted to the ground and thrashed in agony. A blue dragon striped in violet and green darted down and grabbed the wounded creature's shoulders, trying to lift it to safety, but the green dragon gave a barking roar and beat its blue comrade across the head with a clenched paw. The blue whined pitifully but dropped the red, rising into the air.

Hoist whirled and fired on the black dragon that had swooped down to rake at him. The beast hissed as the blast seared a patch of scales on its neck and veered away, but not before its claws had caught Hoist across the chest and gouged out deep furrows in the metal. Hoist staggered back, a hand over the slashes, and quickly surveyed the damage. When he'd assured himself that the blow had only opened the metal and not damaged any internal components, he turned his attention back to the sky and kept firing, scattering the dragons that kept diving and swooping down to harry the Autobots.

"There's too many of them!" Bluestreak shouted. "We need backup!"

"I've radioed Optimus regarding the situation," Hoist replied, squeezing a few rounds off at a mottled gray and brick-red dragon that had just launched a fireball at the tow truck. "Hopefully he doesn't mistake it for a crank call..."

A terrible bellow, louder and fiercer than the dragons' roars, shook the air and drowned out all other noise, and the creatures cried out in dismay and scattered as a huge silver and yellow form crashed through the park. Though no bigger than the largest of the dragons, the newcomer sent the creatures scattering and shrieking in panic as it blasted its own fire at them. Again the blue dragon pulled and yanked at the fallen dragon, trying to carry it away to safety, but a snap of the attacker's steel jaws sent it flying away with a piteous cry. The other still-functional dragons followed close behind, with the green bringing up the rear as if to herd them on their way.

"Whew," sighed Hoist, subspacing his gun. "That was, as the humans would say, a close shave. Thank you, Grimlock."

The Dinobot commander huffed. "Me Grimlock not scared of stupid dragons," he said disdainfully, transforming and cracking his knuckle joints. "Me showed them not to mess with Autobots."

Bluestreak lowered his own weapon and looked around, sudden panic seizing his spark. "Where's Sparkplug?"

"I thought he was with you!" Hoist protested.

"I'm right over here."

Bluestreak and Hoist turned to see Sparkplug standing by the red dragon's side, one hand on its neck. Bluestreak hurried forward and scooped the human up, partly to check him for injuries and partly to get him away from the dragon before it decided to make a snack of him.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"Just in my pocketbook," Sparkplug replied resignedly. "I don't even WANT to know what I'm going to owe the library for those burned books... but I'm a bit more concerned about the dragon."

"You are aware that those creatures WERE trying to melt us into slag just now, aren't you?" asked Hoist.

"You know," Sparkplug replied thoughtfully, "I don't think they were doing it all on their own. Did you get a good look at their necks?"

"Not really, it was the mouths I was more worried about," Bluestreak replied, looking at his melted doorwing.

"Well, take a look at this one."

Hoist approached the dragon warily. The creature's great sides heaved in and out as it breathed, but otherwise it was still -- possibly it had been knocked out from the fall or simply lost consciousness from the pain.

"It's collared," Hoist noted, reaching down to touch the thick band of metal at the base of its neck.

"That's weird," Bluestreak said, puzzled now. "The one I saw didn't wear a collar. You think it's a trained attack animal of some kind?"

"Not sure," Sparkplug replied. "But it's worth a look at anyhow, right?"

"Me Grimlock say just smash and be done with it," Grimlock argued.

"No, Grimlock, Prime's going to want a look at this," Sparkplug replied. "Let's get it to the Ark, and quick."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

"Before anything else is said," Optimus Prime told Bluestreak in a solemn voice, "I want to extend a whole-sparked apology to you. I'm very sorry that we were so quick to disbelieve your story."

"Aw, it's all right, sir," Bluestreak assured him, wincing just slightly as Ratchet detached his melted doorwing for replacement. "It was a pretty incredible story, I admit... and maybe I should have showed you visuals of it instead of just expecting you to take my word for it..."

"All the same, you have always been an honest and trustworthy soldier," Prime interrupted. "We should have investigated your story rather than dismissed it out of hand. Will you accept my apology, Bluestreak?"

"Of course!" The Datsun grasped Prime's hand and shook it. "Call it the past and move on?"

"That sounds acceptable to me," Prime replied, nodding. "Now let's have a look at what you've brought us."

"Good luck getting to it through the crowds," Ratchet complained, shaking his head. "My repair bay is not a zoo, tell some of these gawkers to clear out already."

The repair bay was jammed full of Autobots, making it nearly impossible to move around without bumping into someone or stepping on a foot. Granted, some of them were actually here to apologize for making fun of Bluestreak and his story, but most wanted a look at the dragon, or even to try touching or poking at it to see if it was real. Prime had finally put his foot down at the latter, assigning the Dinobots to keep the crowds a safe distance from the beast in case it felt threatened and attacked. Currently the only Autobot allowed to touch the creature was Perceptor, who was examining every inch of it with excited fascination.

"Incredible," the scientist murmured as he bent down to peer into one amber-gold eye. "A reptilian organic creature that nonetheless exhibits characteristics of more endothermic creatures..."

"Endo-what?" asked Bluestreak, cocking his head.

"Warm-blooded," Perceptor replied. "Most reptilian organics are ectothermic, or cold-blooded, which means their body temperatures are largely affected by their environment, and fluctuate accordingly. An endothermic creature is able to regulate its own body temperature and maintain a constant internal temperature. Which is probaby beneficial to a reptile this large..." He moved to the uninjured wing and carefully spread it, examining the ribs and membrane. "Though it would be impossible to ascertain without a scan, I theorize that its bones must also be hollow, in order to allow for flight..."

"I would be careful touching it, Perceptor," Prime said warily. "It's proven to be dangerous..."

"The specimin seems agreeable to an examination thus far," Perceptor replied without looking up. "It has exhibited no signs of agression thus far..." As he spoke he ran his hands over the collar on the beast's neck, pausing as he located the catch. "Interesting design, this... far more technologically advanced than I was expecting... I daresay it looks almost Cyber-"

The moment his fingers unsnapped the collar's catch, the dragon threw its head back and bellowed in rage. A fountain of blue-gold flame raked the ceiling, leaving a path of charred rock and warped metal. Every Autobot in the room drew and armed weapons as the dragon staggered to its feet, throwing a startled Perceptor to the side in its rage. Trailbreaker immediately went to Prime's side and activated his forcefield, shielding the Autobot commander from the beast's wrath.

Prime drew his own weapon but held it at his side, raising his free hand toward the creature in a placating gesture. "Easy," he told it quietly, keeping his voice low and soothing. "We mean you no harm."

The dragon quieted and gazed at Prime with the fierce amber gaze of a hawk, smoke still puffing from its nostrils. The angry fire in its eyes cooled slightly, and its powerful body gradually relaxed as it settled back down, still alert but no longer ready to leap and attack.

"You aren't at all like the others," it muttered, its gaze sweeping the room now. "I see that now."

"Holy slag, it talks!" shrieked Sideswipe, sparking a round of excited chatter. The dragon tensed and backed away from the gathered Autobots.

"QUIET!" Prime shouted over the din. "I want everyone save Ratchet, Perceptor, Bluestreak, and myself out of the repair bay! Now! Grimlock, escort everyone out and keep them out."

"That's not fair," grumbled Slingshot as the Dinobots herded the Autobots out of the room. "Coolest thing ever to happen on this dirtball and we get shut out..."

The dragon sighed in relief once the medbay had been cleared out, and it stretched its neck out and laid its chin on the floor. "Thank you... I was beginning to feel like a sideshow attraction."

"I didn't know you could speak," Bluestreak marveled.

"Dragons take the time to learn other languages besides our own," he replied -- for that voice was definitley male. "We don't know your kind's language yet, but it seems the human tongue will suffice for now."

Prime nodded. "I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. And I wish to know why you attacked two of my troops when they showed no signs of hostility toward you."

The dragon raised its head and looked Prime in the optic. "I am Ignatius, son of Vulcar and Lilith, Wing-Second of the Ironclaw Wing in service to Wing-Commander Oberon. And in response to your question... we did not attack you out of malice, or even out of our own volition." He raised a forepaw and scratched at the base of his neck where the scales were paler and duller than on the rest of his body, probably due to the collar. "We were under the control of another."

"Who?" asked Bluestreak, though he was pretty sure everyone present already knew the answer to that.

Ignatius snarled. "One of your kind known as Megatron."

***

The moment the five dragons crowded into the landing bay of the Nemesis, the Decepticons set to work. Onslaught, Dragstrip, Thrust, and Skywarp rushed forward and snapped chains to the collars of four of the dragons and led them deeper into the base, toward a section of the ship that had once been a training room but had now been divided into makeshift pens. The dragons tossed their heads and made discontented noises, but followed unresistingly, if not exactly docilely.

Megatron himself oversaw the returning of the creatures to their enclosures, and watched critically as each beast was led into its pen and chained to a post. Once the doors were shut and locked, containing the creatures, he nodded and gave a wave of his hand to indicate the four Decepticons were temporarily relieved of their duty. Someone else would be along later to refill food and water troughs and clean out the pens, either one of the Constructicons or another soldier who had received the disgusting duty as a punishment.

"There's two missing," Starscream grumbled, eyeing the two empty pens critically.

"Soundwave, an explanation," demanded Megatron.

The communications officer nodded. "One unit: shot down during fighting. Contact with control device: negative. Presumed captured. Second unit: injured. Undergoing repairs."

Starscream snorted. "You don't repair organic creatures, you idiot. They self-repair on their own. If it's damaged enough that it can't self-repair, just shoot it."

"Silence!" Megatron thundered. "The beast will not be disposed of unless I say so. And if the injury is minor, we will simply keep it out of combat until it has recovered. There is not an infinite supply of these creatures, and every one is valuable to us. Show me the damaged beast."

Soundwave nodded and led the Decepticon commander to the back of the dragon compound. Catlike eyes gleaming in every color imaginable watched Megatron pass, scaled bodies shifting and diamond-sharp claws dragging across the floor. He let a smile curl the corners of his mouth as he admired the creatures in passing. Who would have thought this pitiful dirtball of a world could have produced such magnificent animals? Organic creatures, granted, but nonetheless, one had to concede that these dragons were easily a match for most Cybertronians -- strong, swift, capable of sustained flight, and possessing their own form of weaponry and armor strong enough to resist most physical attacks.

The fact that they were not only sentient, but had no interest in forming any sort of alliance with the Decepticons, had been a minor setback... but one that had been relatively easy to overcome.

At the far end of the compound lay a large black dragon, with ruby-red eyes and a spattering of gray on its flanks and hind legs. A thick chain bound it to one wall, but such a precaution seemed unnecessary, as it lay quietly while Hook knelt by its side and inspected a burn on its neck. Due to the beast's natural coloration it was difficult to judge how much flesh had been charred by the blaster fire, but the dragon didn't appear to be dying, so the wound couldn't have been too bad.

"Well?" demanded Megatron, going to stand behind Hook.

"I'm a repair technician, not a zoologist," Hook complained, standing. "What do you expect me to do, weld the creature's wounds closed?"

"That would only make the burns worse, you fool," Starscream snapped, not realizing Hook was being sarcastic. "Luckily,_ I _have had experience with organics during my scientist years..."

"Then make yourself useful for once!" Megatron barked, shoving the red-and-white Seeker against the dragon's side. It gave a hough of surprise but didn't move.

Starscream grumbled but knelt to examine the creature anyhow. After a moment he nodded and stood, addressing the others with a superior air.

"It will repair on its own," he declared. "Or at least, it WOULD repair on its own if it hadn't had the miserable luck to be shot right where the control collar is. We'll have to remove it, or it will keep rubbing the wound and reopening it before it has a chance to heal."

"You idiot, do you WANT this beast running amok in the base?" growled Megatron.

"Suggestion: remove device momentarily," Soundwave offered. "Replace on different location on unit's body."

Megatron considered Soundwave's idea, then nodded. "Starscream, remove the collar. Soundwave, Hook, be ready to move on my command."

"What?" protested Starscream. "Why must I be the one who..."

"Because removing the collar was YOUR idea, and because I'll have you smelted into slag if you don't!" thundered Megatron.

Hands shaking slightly, Starscream turned and laid his hands on the collar, unsnapping it. The moment the catch came unfastened, the dragon's scarlet eyes flared with rage, as if suddenly illuminated from within.

"Hold it down!" Megatron barked, throwing himself forward and onto the beast's neck. The dragon screamed and thrashed, fighting to break free as the Decepticon leader shoved its head and neck to the floor and held it there. Soundwave flung himself against one wing and kept it pinned against its side, while Hook snatched and held the wildly flailing tail.

"Miserable chaos-spawn!" the dragon bellowed, shreds of flame spitting from its mouth as it raged. "Egg-breakers, wing-clippers, gods-cursed machines! Tiamut damn you to the deepest pits of the Underworld!"

"Starscream, replace the collar!" Megatron shouted over the dragon's cursing. "Now!"

The Seeker stepped back, still holding the collar. "Why should I?" he demanded in an oily voice. "Perhaps if I wait long enough the beast will accomplish what I've hoped to do for so long -- get rid of Megatron that I may take my rightful place as the leader of the Decepticons... hey!" His smug statement was cut off with a yelp as a small red-and-black form darted down from the ceiling and snatched the collar out of his hands, dropping it over Megatron.

"At least ONE soldier here knows his rightful place," Megatron told Laserbeak, catching the collar in one hand and working it around the infuriated dragon's neck where the throat and jaw met -- no small task, as the creature was still writhing frantically to escape. At last he fastened the catch, and the dragon gave one last heave before going limp, its long maw open and panting in exhaustion.

Soundwave released the dragon's wing and stepped back, nodding. "Control of unit resumed. Danger: minimal."

"No thanks to Starscream," Megatron snarled, releasing his hold on the dragon's neck and standing.

The Air Commander whimpered and shrank back from his leader's enraged glare. "Y-you can't destroy me, Megatron! I'm too valuable to your cause..."

"Really?" Megatron demanded, his venemous glare suddenly becoming an icy smile. "Then you may prove your value to me by taking over the Constructicons' task for the next five cycles. Their dragon-tending duties are yours for now."

Starscream sputtered. "You can't reduce me to drone work!"

"Oh, I can't, can I?" Megatron sneered. "Then perhaps you'd rather I handed you over to Hook here and now for spare parts?"

Starscream grumbled mutinously but stalked off to find a shovel. Hook, meanwhile, released the dragon's tail and picked up a chain, fastening it to the beast's collar and leading it back to its pen. Soundwave waited only long enough for Laserbeak to perch on his shoulder before nodding to Megatron and turning to go.

Megatron knelt and ran his fingers over the deep gouges in the metal left by the black beast's claws, smiling. He'd never seen such sheer destructive power in an organic before... but now that power was his to command. His to control.

"Heth is injured."

Megatron raised his head to find himself optic-to-eye with a glittering white dragon, her violet gaze regarding him coldly. Nearly half as big again as the largest of the other dragons, she wore no collar, but rather bore an intricately-etched gold faceplate decorated with gemstones. Every other dragon in the compound backed warily away as far as their chains and walls would allow, some lowering their heads in awe, others hissing and snarling in hatred.

Megatron simply stood and addressed the creature as dismissively as if she were another of his underlings. "The injury is minor, Lady Phantasma. He will recover."

"Nonetheless, he is injured," she replied in a voice like cold iron, unplacated. "Injured while fighting YOUR war, a war our people have no part in. And Ignatius is gone, perhaps dead..." Her wings unfurled partway in anger as she continued speaking. "You said the Autobots would not harm our kind!"

"I said that the Autobots avoid harming organics whenever possible, so it was iunlikely/i your kind would be harmed," Megatron corrected smugly. "Unlikely, but not impossible. It is also highly possible that the one you call Ignatius is not dead, but captured. And the Autobots are soft at spark -- they most likely will not destroy a captive, especially an organic one."

"How can you be so sure?" she hissed, eyes flashing. "We already have proof that these Autobots are perfectly willing to fire upon my people. How am I to know that they won't slaughter us the next time you send us out to battle?"

_Better your kind than mine,_ Megatron mused silently, allowing a smirk to cross his features. One added advantage of using the dragons to fight the Autobots -- they didn't waste valuable troops, energy, and other resources waging battles themselves. Let the dragons fight the Autobots directly and take the brunt of the damage, he theorized, and his own troops would be free for more important missions.

He said none of this to Phantasma, though. "Remember, Lady Phantasma, that you agreed to this arrangement. It was your word and yours alone that allowed your people to serve us, and it was out of the kindness of my spark that I allowed you to remain uncontrolled. And you would also do well to remember the consequences should you choose to turn on me or back out of the deal now."

The white dragon lowered her head submissively, but her eyes flashed with mingled rage and fear. "Yes, Lord Megatron."

Megatron chuckled and patted her shoulder. "Then we are in agreement for now. Return to your quarters, Lady Phantasma. In the morning, we will send the dragon forces to crush the Autobots once and for all!"

***

"I think that's the last of it," Spike sighed, hauling the last cooler out of Ironhide's interior. "Wonder if the meat department at that store has ever gotten that big an order before."

"And I'd like to know what the guy was thinking when we told him to put it on the Autobots' tab," Sparkplug chuckled.

"Wouldn't it be easier t' just buy a whole cow an' bring it in?" asked Ironhide, transforming and looking at the stack of coolers with a dubious expression.

"Maybe, but I doubt Hoist and Grapple want to clean up after a rather large predator making a kill," Sparkplug pointed out. "This way might be a little more complicated, but at least it's less disgusting."

"Right," Ironhide agreed, making a face. "Don' fancy seein' THAT after catchin' some of Hound's nature shows..."

"Oh good, you're back!" Hound said brightly, hurrying in and spotting Ironhide's cargo. "Prime wants all this unwrapped and ready for Ignatius as soon as possible, so I'll give you a hand, all right?"

"Bet you never thought you'd be preparing a dragon's dinner as part of your job, did you, Hound?" Spike laughed, opening the first cooler and working the plastic off a package of beef roast.

"I have to admit, it sure came as a surprise," Hound replied, still grinning, as he pitched in.

While Hound, Ironhide, and the humans kept busy on one side of repair bay, Perceptor and Wheeljack were hard at work on the other side. Ignatius held his undamaged wing out patiently while Perceptor carefully measured and scanned every inch, flexing the limb on command at the scientist's request. Wheeljack sat cross-legged on the floor nearby with a portable computer unit in his lap, using Perceptor's measurements and other data to construct a digital model that could then be used to create a cybernetic replacement for Ignatius' burned wing. First Aid and Ratchet, meanwhile, were tending and bandaging the remaining stump of the damaged wing -- the burn damage had been bad enough that they had been forced to amputate it.

"We apologize deeply for this, Ignatius," Prime told the dragon. "We will do all we can to repair the damage we caused you."

"I cannot fault your troops for defending themselves, Prime," Ignatius replied solemnly. "I do appreciate what you're doing in restitution, though. A flightless dragon is worth about as much as... well... I suppose a Cybertronian who can't transform."

Prime pulled a chair over and had a seat before Ignatius. "Before much else is said... I would like to know how your kind fell under Megatron's control. I assume this is a relatively new development."

Ignatius gave a deep-throated growl, making First Aid and Ratchet back nervously away. "We were betrayed by our Queen."

Prime tilted his head curiously. "How so?"

"Our kind has always obeyed our Queen's commands," Ignatius replied. "From the days of the First Dragon Tiamut, mother of all our kind, it has been custom bordering on ancient law to follow her and do as she commands. Thus our Queens have been charged with seeing to the welfare of all our kind, and serving us as we serve her. A selfish or arrogant queen could be the doom of all our race."

"Sounds like a dictatorship to me," Ratchet put in.

"That is not to say we have no free will," Ignatius clarified. "On the contrary, we are a proud and independent race, keeping apart from both humankind and, more recently, robot-kind. But until very recently, our Queens have never given us cause to rebel, and we have been content to honor their wishes and their rule."

"Until the betrayal you spoke of," said Prime quietly.

"Betrayal indeed." Ignatius snorted, smoke and flame jetting from his nostrils. "About a month ago, Queen Phantasma, our current ruler, summoned every able-bodied dragon of our race to her royal caverns for what she called a 'special mission.' The mission turned out to be a trap -- the Decepticons met us there, and the Queen ordered us to wear the collars that would allow your enemies to control our every action."

"But why?" Bluestreak asked, optics wide from Ignatius' tale. "Why would she let Megatron do such a thing? And why would she order you to submit to that kind of treatment?"

"Who can say?" Ignatius replied. "Perhaps Megatron has tempted her with the promise of ruling this world once he is through with it. Perhaps she has gone mad. She has given us no answer."

"So with these collars on, you have to obey Megatron's every command?" inquired Bluestreak.

"Didn't he just get through saying that?" said Ratchet testily.

"The control devices appear to be based on the same technology that operated Dr. Arkeville's mind-controlling computer chips," Perceptor put in as he measured the length of one wing rib. "They do not suppress the victim's thought processes, but they put the motor control processes under the command of a central computer system, which itself is most probably controlled by either Megatron or his most loyal lieutenant -- Soundwave would be my conjecture. There seems to be additional technology within the collar that also suppresses the linguistic center of the biological brain, inhibiting communication."

"In layman's terms, the dragons can still think for themselves with the collars on," Wheeljack clarified. "But their body movements are under Megatron's control, and they can't speak while it's on either."

"That's terrible," Bluestreak whimpered. "I... I'm sorry..."

"It is not your fault," Ignatius assured him.

Prime considered, holding his chin in one hand. "Interesting that Megatron would resort to using the dragons as weapons. As long as I have known him, he has disdained organics as useless except as hostages or manipulable stooges."

"Dragons are not ordinary organics," Ignatius pointed out.

"Got that right," said Bluestreak with a wince, waving one doorwing. "I mean, they've got breath hot enough to melt Cybertronian alloys and claws that can tear through our armor... and they're big and fast and their scales are pretty tough..."

"And Megatron knows we don't like to hurt organics if we can help it," Prime pointed out. "Plus, if he uses the dragons as weapons, he can keep his own troops in reserve for other missions. Put it all together, and it's the best answer." He lowered his hand and gave Ignatius a solemn nod. "Wing-Second Ignatius, I promise you that the Autobots will do all in our power to free your people from Megatron's control. He cannot be allowed to get away with this..."

The base alarms chose that moment to go off.

"Oh, perfect timing," grumbled Ratchet. "First Aid, take over here, I've got a repair bay to prep."

"Blaster, Red Alert, what's the situation?" Prime barked over his radio.

"Got a group of bogies comin' in from our northwest quadrant, Prime!" Blaster exclaimed. "Looks like forty, maybe fifty, makin' a bulls-eye for the Ark!"

"And what's more, they're organic!" added Red Alert. "I have all exterior guns trained on them, we can fire as soon as we have targets acquired..."

"No!" Prime ordered. "Keep the exterior cannons armed in case of Decepticon reinforcements, but do NOT fire on the organics! Seal off all exterior exits save the main doors, and send a message to the human military forces to evacuate all roads and settlements between here and Portland."

"Yes sir," Red Alert replied, obvious reluctance in his voice.

Prime switched frequencies to the general Autobot broadband. "Autobots, roll out! Engage the dragons, but do NOT aim to kill! If you can get close enough to disable or remove their collars, do so, but otherwise try to avoid their fire as much as possible."

Ignatius stood, stretching like a cat and unfurling his remaining wing to its greatest length. "Let me go with you."

"Ignatius, you're badly injured..." Prime protested.

"If I am present, I may be able to help you," he countered. "Perhaps if they see one of their comrades has escaped Megatron's control, it may give them the strength to resist the collars and perhaps even overcome them. At the very least... I must save my mate. She is among those Megatron holds in his thrall. Please, Prime, you cannot deny me this."

Prime shook his head. "No, I cannot. But I still don't like it." He turned to Bluestreak. "I'm assigning you to guard Ignatius during the battle, Bluestreak. It will be your responsibility to make sure none of his comrades harm him."

"Yes, sir," Bluestreak replied, saluting. He folded himself to his Datsun mode and sped out of medbay, Ignatius loping behind him.

"Ignatius, what's your mate look like?" asked Bluestreak as he drove. "Maybe if we save her first thing, she can help us free the others."

"Her name is Sinistra," Ignatius replied, not breaking his stride. "Blue striped with violet and green. You saw her in the last skirmish, I believe."

"Oh, her, yeah," Bluestreak replied. "All right, if she's out there, we'll try to save her first, all right?"

"I would be forever grateful to you if you could," Ignatius replied. "May Tiamut bless us with the opportunity."

"Primus be with us," Bluestreak echoed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Never before had Optimus Prime encountered an army of this nature, and he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that weighed down his fuel tank as if he had ingested lead instead of energon that morning. He knew how to battle Decepticons -- it was almost second nature to him anymore. But this... this was something else entirely. A foe he had never faced before and had no idea how to combat.

The morning sunlight glittered on the scales of well over two dozen dragons as they soared over the Ark, their bugling cries ringing through the air. There was a kind of terrible beauty to the creatures if one took the time to look -- their scales shone like polished jewels and gleamed with rich color, and their bodies possessed a fierce elegance that lent itself to every movement. And knowing that these were the fabled creatures that haunted humankind's oldest legends and dearest fantasies made their appearance all the more awe-inspiring.

But none of this changed the fact that these creatures had been ordered to destroy them... and had no choice but to obey that command.

"I count fifty-eight dragons, Prime," Prowl reported from Prime's right. "They appear to be flying in rough formations as well. Six groups in all."

"Dragons are organized in groups known as wings," Ignatius informed them from his position on Prime's left. "Each wing contains six to nine fighting dragons, among them a Wing-Commander, a Wing-Second, and a healer, as well as various elders, hatchlings, young drakes, and dragons of more peacable temperaments who have no wish to fight. Megatron's demands that every able-bodied dragon be collared to fight has upset our traditional order."

"He's not makin' th' old ones or th' kids fight, is he?" asked Jazz, concerned.

Ignatius shook his head. "The elders did not respond to the Queen's call, but stayed behind in our caverns to protect the young. With any luck, at least they will survive whatever befalls the rest of our people."

"Is this all of your fighting dragons?" asked Bluestreak, optics bright with awe and fear.

"Our numbers have fallen in recent years, but this is certainly not all of our battle-worthy dragons," he replied. "Megatron collared at least two hundred dragons..."

The bottom seemed to fall out of Prime's fuel tank at that comment. "Jazz, take Mirage, Hound, and the Protectobots and cover our left flank. Prowl, take Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Trailbreaker, Brawn, Inferno, and Powerglide and cover the right. We're going to be ambushed. And remember -- do not shoot to kill unless you're in mortal danger. Understood?"

"Yessir..." began Jazz, but was cut off as a horrific roar threatened to overload Prime's audial circuitry. Prime whirled, raising his gun, as an emerald-green dragon swooped low to rake at him with its foreclaws. His hasty shot went wide, barely skimming the creature's wingtip, and fire exploded through his shoulder as diamond-sharp talons slashed his arm open from smokestack to elbow joint.

"Oberon!" Ignatius bellowed, spreading his wing as if trying to take flight after his comrade. "Wing-Commander! It is I, Ignatius, your second!"

The green dragon gave no indication that he heard. He uttered another fearsome bellow, looping around to strike again. Other dragons, as if in response to his cry, dove to attack, some slashing and breathing fire before pulling up, others landing to bite and claw at the Autobots. Jazz went down almost immediately, bathed in blue-gold fire and screaming in pain, while Prowl dropped his gun to grapple with a smaller but no less powerful brown-and-yellow dragon that had landed before him.

Prime swung his gun around to take aim at yet another beast, a blue dragon with scarlet eyes and violet and green stripes. The beast hung in the air as if taunting him with the knowledge that he wouldn't make a fatal shot, spewing flame at him. He dove and rolled to the side to avoid the blast and raised his gun again. The wings were their weak spots, perhaps a clean shot through the membrane would bring her down...

A mass of scarlet and gold blocked his line of fire as Ignatius leaped at the blue dragon, shoving her to the ground. She screamed and thrashed, snapping at him as he struggled to keep her pinned. Bluestreak hurried to the blue's side and struggled to pull off the collar, but she was squirming too much for him to get a good grip.

Prime quickly stowed his gun and grabbed the beast's neck, pulling her into a headlock. Bluestreak shot Prime a grateful look as he finally unlatched the collar and flung it away. Immediately Prime felt the tension drain from the blue dragon's body, and he released her as her struggles finally ceased.

"Sinistra," Ignatius breathed, stepping back to let her climb to her feet. "Thank Tiamut you're all right..."

"Ignatius!" She righted herself and immediately touched her muzzle to his. "What happened to you? Your wing..."

"Never mind me, love," he told her softly. "We must free the others."

"Sinistra, will you help us?" asked Prime. "The Autobots mean no harm to your kind, and we could use all the help we can get to free them."

"You have my aid," she vowed, dipping her head low in a bow. Then she sprang into the air, wings unfurling like banners to catch the air and take flight. Immediately the green dragon -- Oberon, Ignatius had called him -- swooped low to make another strike at Prime, but hissed in startled dismay as Sinistra attacked, slashing at his neck to get at the collar.

"Whew, one down," Bluestreak sighed.

"And many more to go," Prime told him gravely. "But at least the dragons we rescue seem to be willing to take our side."

More pitched screams rang through the air as the battle continued to rage. Confusion was spreading through the draconian ranks as Sinistra darted from wing to wing, making grabs for her comrades' collars but not always succeeding in tearing them off. Swoop had grabbed the collar of an enormous gold beast in his pterodactyl claws and was struggling to tear it loose, but the dragon thrashed and writhed in midair, giving poor Swoop the ride of his life as he was tossed and thrown about. The Aerialbots were having no better luck -- already three of them had gone down in flames, and Air Raid and Silverbolt had managed to uncollar a gray-and-red dragon only at the cost of terrible slashes to their wings and limbs. And still the dragons kept up their assault, flaming and biting and slashing, leaving behind a trail of deep gashes and torn limbs and melting plating.

Prime shunted aside the horror of the situation as much as he could, forcing his attention back to keeping the collared dragons away from the Ark. They would worry about casualties after the battle. For now, they had to concentrate on surviving... and freeing as many of the dragons as they could, if possible.

"Bluestreak, look out!" bellowed Ignatius, but his cry came too late. The gold dragon had landed behind the Datsun and now struck him down with a swipe of his claws. Swoop had his beak jammed under the beast's collar, trying to slice it free, but the device was proving stubborn... and the dragon was already inhaling deeply, its throat swelling as it prepared to unleash a fiery holocaust upon the young gunner.

Prime didn't stop to think. Before even he realized what was happening, he had bolted forward and thrown himself between the wounded gunner and the gold dragon.

The last thing he saw before agony swamped his neural systems was the horrified look on Swoop's face, and the last thing he heard was Bluestreak's disbelieving scream.

***

"PRIME!"

Bluestreak stared in horror as the Autobot commander rolled to the side, optics wide and flickering in pain, paint blackened and charred where it hadn't peeled off altogether. The heat of the dragon's fire had warped and twisted the metal of Prime's chassis, and smoke poured from gaps in his plating where vital circuitry had been reduced to melted clumps. Even as the gunner watched his optics went gray and blank, whether from offlining or from the heat of the flames he wasn't sure.

The dragon drew breath for another attack... then gave a jerk as Swoop finally managed to sever the collar about his neck. He shook himself like a dog and stared down at Prime with a stunned expression.

"I didn't mean..." he said quietly. "I couldn't help..."

"No time to talk!" Swoop squawked, transforming to robot mode as he landed beside the dragon. "You Bluestreak get him Ratchet! Quick!"

"Yessir!" Bluestreak shouted, forgetting for a moment that the Dinobot had no command over him, and he bolted for the main doors of the Ark. Pain flashed through his sensors as the damage from the flames registered on his status readout -- Prime had taken the brunt of the attack, but the flames had still managed to scorch some of his systems and plating.

"Bluestreak, what..." began Ratchet, coming out of the base to intercept him.

"Prime'sbeendragonscorched!" he blurted out in one go, before skidding to a halt and doing his best to collect himself. "He jumped between me and a dragon... saved my life... he's a mess... aw, Ratchet..."

"Calm down, Bluestreak, and get inside," Ratchet ordered sternly, but not without a note of kindness in his voice. "I've already gotten a call from Ironhide, he and Inferno are bringing Prime in."

"Yessir." Mentally kicking himself for not thinking to use his radio, Bluestreak ducked inside the base. Ratchet and Ignatius ducked in soon after, the latter with Jazz and Powerglide draped over his back.

"Autobots, retreat!" Prowl barked over the radio. "Return to the base and seal all entrances! Bring any uncollared dragons with you if possible!"

The Autobots fell back, some staggering and clutching deep slashes or burned limbs, others hauling their wounded comrades over their shoulders. Several dragons, their necks mercifully bare, landed and hurried into the Ark as well, a few pausing to accept the bodies of badly damaged Autobots on their backs. Other dragons, still bearing the controlling collars, kept diving to drive and harry them in their retreat, scoring a few final injuries before soaring upward to rejoin their ranks.

Bluestreak staggered into the medical bay to find chaos -- there were so many injured mechs packed in the room that it was almost impossible to move around without bumping into someone. Every berth held a mangled or burned Autobot, and in a few cases Ratchet had been forced to lay two patients on one berth to keep from laying any of the seriously injured out on the floor. Other, less damaged mechs stood or sat, hands pressed over leaking tears or holding severed limbs for replacement. Ratchet, First Aid, Wheeljack, Swoop, Perceptor, and Hoist moved quickly, almost frantically, through the crowd, working at a feverish pace to seal off major fluid lines and stabilize the worst injuries.

The young gunner shuddered and offlined his optics, turning away as Ironhide and Inferno hauled in Prime's blackened, warped chassis. It was too much. The scene here struck too close to home, reminding him too much of the destruction of his hometown, a catalysm in which he had been the lone survivor...

"Bluestreak?"

He onlined his optics to see Ignatius gazing at him, his reptilian face and eyes somehow broadcasting concern.

"H-how's Sinistra?" he managed to get out, voice shaky.

"A little battered, but fine," the red dragon replied softly. "I sense you aren't, however."

Bluestreak just fell against his shoulder, shaking as he tried to get a grip on himself. Ignatius wrapped his wing around the silver Autobot and crooned softly, doing what he could to comfort him.

***

It was a glorious sight to Megatron's optics, and a welcome change of pace -- the Autobots calling a full retreat. He flung his head back and indulged in a long and gleeful laugh. The dragons had proven to be every bit as destructive as he could have hoped, and the Autobots every bit as compassionate and weak. Even when the beasts were felling their kind right and left, they wouldn't strike back with deadly force. Their sickening soft-sparked honor would be their doom, and with any luck he would be able to witness it personally very shortly.

The Decepticon leader stood atop a cliff overlooking the scene of the battle, Soundwave and Starscream standing at one side, Queen Phantasma on the other. From their vantage point they had a prime view of the Ark and the Autobots' efforts to defend it. Even as they watched, the last few Autobot stragglers ran back into the base to cower, the doors slamming shut behind them. The dragons took up posts about the base, some landing on the volcano itself, others circling like cyberhawks scanning for glitchmice.

"Autobot army has retreated," Soundwave announced -- rather redundantly, but for once Megatron didn't call him out on it. "Autobot base: surrounded. Capture and destruction of Autobot forces: imminent."

"How many dragons missing?" demanded Phantasma, eyes never leaving the battlefield.

"Contact with seven units lost," Soundwave replied, his voice as empty of emotion as ever.

Phantasma nodded but said nothing else.

"Excellent," Megatron purred, rubbing his hands together delightedly. "Today is a day to be long remembered among the Decepticons -- the day when we finally crush Optimus Prime and his band of upstarts and secure Earth and its resources for ourselves!"

"So YOU say," Starscream grumbled. "What's to say the Autobots don't have some kind of counterattack planned? Or that they won't decide that killing the dragons is the only option left? They may be soft and weak, but they're not stupid -- they're hardly going to let themselves be slaughtered over a few organics."

"Enough out of you," Megatron snapped. "Soundwave, call the dragons back and assess them for injuries. Then we regroup and attack. And this time... we will not rest until the Autobots have been reduced to scrap!"

Phantasma turned at last to face the silver Decepticon. "And then? Will you allow my people to go free, as promised?"

Megatron's grin of triumph became a knowing smirk. "And why would I do that? I never promised that your people would be released once the Autobots were destroyed."

Her lips drew back in a savage snarl. "You two-faced wing-breaking slime!" Powerful muscles beneath her glittering white scales tensed as she gathered herself to spring at him.

"She's turning on us!" Starscream shrieked, raising his armguns.

Megatron held a hand up to stop Starscream from firing. "The conditions of the deal were clear, Phantasma, and keeping your people under my control does not violate those conditions. Striking me down... THAT voids our agreement entirely. And you know exactly what will happen then."

Phantasma gave an impotent scream of rage and whirled away, pacing like a caged electro-panther, smoke billowing from her jaws. Megatron only watched impassively, waiting for her to cool down. She would see reason soon... she had no choice. He held the advantage here, and she knew that full well.

At last she stilled, though her entire body remained rock-hard with tension and her amethyst eyes flashed with anger. "You will regret the day you enslaved our kind, Megatron. I swear this by Tiamut's first egg."

"On the contrary, my lady," he replied with a self-satisfied grin, "I have no regrets at all, and I doubt I ever will."

***

"Grimlock, so help me, if you don't get your sorry aft onto the examining table, I'm going to weld it there!" Ratchet bellowed, his patience and frazzled sensory circuits finally reaching the breaking point.

"Me Grimlock just fine!" huffed the Dinobot leader, stomping like a recalcitrant toddler. "Not need medic."

"Just fine my rear axle, you're bleeding all over my medbay!" Ratchet retorted, pointing at the floor at Grimlock's feet.

Grimlock barely gave the puddles of energon and oil a second glance. "It not that bad..."

"Grimlock, the only thing holding your arm on is a couple of wires," Wheeljack pointed out, his voice pleading. "Please, let us at least reattach it..."

"Me Grimlock not going to!" Grimlock declared. "Me Grimlock king! Not be bossed around by Autobots... hey!" He staggered forward as Ignatius shoved him from behind, pushing him onto the examination table. Swoop grabbed Grimlock's good arm and pulled him the rest of the way onto the table before he could protest. The T-rex gave a look that even through a mask and visor was clearly a pout, but submitted to his teammate's examination.

"Thank you," Ratchet sighed, nodding at the dragon before going to work.

"The least I could do," Ignatius replied before returning to the corner where he and his kind were deep in discussion.

Once Prowl was sure the medics had Grimlock well in hand, he turned his attention to the rest of the wounded, looking upon the damaged mechs with a critical optic. It was a grim sight -- most of their forces had taken some sort of damage in the battle. And not the normal dents or blast damage, but tears and scorched circuitry and missing limbs, the sort of damage that took a great deal of time to repair. There were no fatalities, a small miracle... but Prime himself was out of commission, and many other Autobots would be laid up for a good long while.

It would take time to repair everyone... time that they didn't have, what with the draconian menace waiting just outside the Ark.

"Prowl?"

It took a moment for Prowl to register that First Aid had spoken, and he turned to face the junior medic. "What is it?"

"I just said I have a status report," First Aid repeated, holding up a datapad. "Twenty-three damaged, eleven severely. The severe casualties have been stabilized, but it'll be awhile before they're walking again."

Prowl nodded. "Concentrate on repairing the lightly wounded first," he ordered, hating himself for giving the order. "At the moment we need every fighting mechanism we can get. Once they're taken care of, turn your attentions to the more severe injuries. Especially Prime."

"Yes, sir." First Aid hurried back to Ratchet to deliver the report.

Prowl turned his attention to Jazz's berth. The black-and-white Porsche was far more black than white now, and the heat of the blast he had taken had caused his plating to buckle and twist in places. Ratchet had fixed the deepest dents to keep them from pinching off vital wires or tubing, but otherwise it would be awhile yet before he saw anything in the way of repairs. At the moment he simply lay back on the berth, humming a mindless little tune and occasionally wincing in pain.

"How are you feeling?" inquired Prowl.

"Heh... like slag warmed over," Jazz replied with a self-depreciating chuckle. "REALLY warmed over." He coughed a little, a sign that the heat had done damage to his fuel intake. "Man, we got our afts royally handed t' us, didn't we?"

"That's one way of putting it." He sighed and rubbed the space between his optics. "As much as I agree with Prime that the dragons are innocent victims in this whole affair, I'm beginning to think that there's no way out of this mess except to take drastic steps."

"Y' mean kill 'em?" Jazz asked, visor brightening with alarm.

"Jazz, it simply isn't logical to allow ourselves to be exterminated because of the dragons. We must defend ourselves. Even if that defense includes deadly force."

"I know, man. Don't mean I have t' like it." Jazz leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "Y' think this whole mess coulda been avoided had we just listend t' Blue? 'Stead of blowin' him off like we did?"

"Unknown," Prowl replied. "Bluestreak was aware of the dragons' existence, but not of their allegiance, however forced, to Megatron. We cannot alter the past, only do what we can now to protect ourselves." He found an uncharred spot on Jazz's shoulder and patted it. "Take it easy, and let your self-repair do what it can."

"Yessir."

Prowl left Jazz to himself and continued through the medbay, scanning each berth as he passed it. Aside from Prime, Jazz, and Grimlock, the badly wounded included Powerglide, whose entire chassis had been sliced open from neck to pelvis by a devastating swipe of claws; Tracks, missing both legs and the arm and wing on his left side melted by dragonfire; Sunstreaker, who was so covered in bite marks he looked like a dog's well-used chewtoy; and the five Aerialbots, all still offline from the battle save Fireflight, who whimpered in pain and gave Prowl a pitiful look as he passed by. Some of their best warriors had fallen in battle today, and while the forces of the universe had been merciful enough to not snuff their sparks entirely, it was still a devastating blow.

He drew a deep intake, then blew it out again, collecting himself. Dwelling on the situation wouldn't help. He had to take some kind of action.

When Prowl reached the cluster of dragons in the corner they paused in their conversation and regarded him, some kindly, others suspiciously. He raised a hand in a general gesture of welcome.

"Prowl, Autobot tactician and current commander in the Prime's absence," he said by way of introduction. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all," Ignatius assured him, ignoring the stony glare from a large green dragon who looked to have taken charge here. "On the contrary, we could use one of your kind at the moment. We're discussing how to proceed from here."

"Are you sure he's harmless?" asked the dragon on Ignatius' right, a mottled gray-and-red beast with jet-black eyes and a worried look on his narrow face.

"Oh, don't fuss so much, Ferrus," Sinistra scolded. "These are Autobots, not Decepticons."

"All of these metal creatures are abominations," the enormous green dragon rumbled. "They are intruders to our world, and should be driven back."

"Scorch it all, Oberon, let's not start this again," Ignatius snapped. "The Autobots have never caused us trouble before, and we owe our lives to them."

Oberon snorted but subsided.

Prowl took his place between Ignatius and Ferrus, silently counting the dragons present. Eight in all, which meant they had managed to free seven over the course of the battle. Twenty-three injured to free seven beasts... not a good ratio, no matter how one looked at it.

"As I've said before, our only hope lies in fulfilling Megatron's demands," Oberon went on, glaring at Ignatius as he spoke. "He enslaved our kind in order to destroy the Autobots... so why not give him what he wants?"

"You idiot!" snapped a black dragon with a bad burn on his neck, whom Prowl recognized from earlier introductions as Heth. "What's to say that once Megatron is through with his insane plot, he won't slaughter us all? He doesn't care about our species, we're just tools! And do you keep a tool once you don't need it anymore?"

"Agreed," Sinistra added. "Especially since Megatron must know that if we're capable of this much damage toward Autobots, Decepticons are just as vulnerable. There's no way he will let us go with that knowledge."

Prowl nodded in agreement. "Megatron is no fool. Logic dictates that once he is finished with your kind, he will either exterminate you or keep you enslaved for study or for his own whims. That, and while I wish to help you, neither can I condone the destruction of our troops. We need a solution that benefits both sides."

"Why not just uncollar all the dragons?" asked Cirrus, a black female patched with white like a paint horse. "It solves our problem and yours at the same time."

"We attempted just that during this last battle, and it proved ineffective for the most part," Prowl replied. "Despite all our efforts and all the casualties we took, you were the only dragons we managed to free." He tapped his chin with a finger, considering. "One of our scientists believes that all the collars are controlled by a central computer of some sort. If we were to find and destroy that computer, we could free all your people at the same time."

"What's a computer?" asked Ferrus, puzzled.

"Never mind that," Oberon snapped. "We don't have time to seek out and destroy this computer you speak of. We need to take action now!"

"What of the Queen?" asked Sinistra. "Perhaps she knows where the computer is..."

"The Queen?" scoffed Tiberion, a gold dragon with a tan underbelly and brown splotches on his wings. "Queen Phantasma sold our kind out, remember? We can expect no help from her!"

The smallest dragon present, the brown-and-yellow beast Prowl had managed to uncollar in the course of the battle, spoke up at that moment. "I believe I can be of assistance."

Prowl tilted his head toward the small dragon. "I don't believe I caught your name."

"This is Pan," Sinistra introduced. "The Queen's mate."

"So the dragon's king, then," Prowl theorized.

Pan chuckled. "Nothing quite so high, Commander Prowl. There are no dragon kings, only the Queen. Leadership of our kind is by blood, with the eldest daughter of the Queen succeeding her upon her death. The Queen's mate is merely that, the dragon she chooses as her companion and to father her offspring."

"Then YOU must know why she's done this!" Cirrus exclaimed, blue eyes flashing excitedly. "You're closer to the Queen than any of our kind..."

Pan lowered his head. "I do not. The Queen's duties often call for us to be seperated for long periods of time. The last time I spoke to her was over three months ago, when she left to settle a dispute among the dragons living in Russia. When I next saw her, I was having a collar fastened about my neck."

"Three months ago..." Prowl repeated, a relevant bit of information clicking in his CPU. "Three months ago Teletraan-1 reported Decepticon activity in Siberia, but by the time we got there Megatron and his troops had already vacated the area. At the time we assumed they had been looting power plants, but now I see they were making contact with your Queen."

"Excellent theory, but how does this help us?" demanded Oberon.

"I'm getting there," Pan replied evenly. "Despite all that has happened... I believe I can approach the Queen, and talk to her. At the very least, I can get an explanation for her behavior... and with any luck, perhaps she can help us find the computer and shut it down."

"Impossible!" Tiberion declared. "The Queen will be of no help in this situation..."

"It's the best idea I've heard from anyone," Cirrus pointed out. "And perhaps it's the only chance we have."

Prowl nodded. "It would seem the best way to a quick resolution is through the Queen. However, I don't want you going alone, Pan. Take at least one other dragon with you, as well as a few Autobos to shut down the computer should she cooperate and lead you to it."

"That is acceptable," Pan replied. "Sinistra, Cirrus, will you come with me?"

Both dragons exchanged looks, then Sinistra nodded. "You have our aid in this, Pan."

Prowl activated his comm unit. "Bluestreak, Hound, report to the east auxillary loading bay. And Hound, make sure your hologram projector is fully charged and ready. We're going to need stealth.. and a lot of luck."


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

The entrance to the auxiliary loading bay had been blocked by a wall of solid rock when the Autobots had first come online on Earth and set about to turning the Ark into a serviceable base. It was now accessible from the outside only by a long tunnel that had been blasted through the rock, and its entrance was hidden by a stand of spruce trees, making it nearly impossible to spot unless one knew right where to look. Thus it made the perfect exit for the small team of dragons and Autobots who had been chosen to seek out the Queen.

Hound slipped out first, immediately activating his hologram projector and ducking behind the image of a pile of boulders. He raised his hand, and at that signal Bluestreak hurried out to join him. Sinistra, Pan, and Cirrus were close behind, slinking low to the ground with their wings folded against their sides in an effort to not be spotted.

"Where do you think the Queen is right now?" asked Hound in a low voice.

"Probably with Megatron," Sinistra replied. "He allows her to go uncollared, but likes to keep her close by so he can keep an eye on her."

"So we gotta get her away from Megatron somehow," said Bluestreak. "But how?"

"We'll think of something," Pan assured him. "For now, let's focus on finding her."

Bluestreak wondered how Pan could be so optimistic when so much was riding on their mission here. But he didn't say so, only trailed behind as the yellow-and-brown dragon led the way down the mountain. He just hoped Pan could somehow convince the Queen to help them, and that this could be resolved without further bloodshed or oil-shed on either side. As much as he hated seeing his fellow Autobots suffer, neither did he want to see the dragons destroyed either.

The unlikely group picked their way down the mountain and across the valley, using the cover of trees and rocks when they could, relying on Hound's holograms when they couldn't. It was slow, tricky going, as the dragons and Seekers circling overhead prevented them from emerging from cover too often or moving too far at one time. Once or twice a dragon would suddenly fold its wings and dive low as if it had spotted something, and they were forced to freeze entirely and wait for the beast to lose interest and pass them by.

They were almost at the cliff face when Hound broke the bad news. "My hologram projector's just about out of power," he warned them. "Think I got enough for about thirty more seconds of use, that's it."

"Char and ash," swore Sinistra. "Pan, how much further?"

"Megatron and Queen Phantasma are atop this cliff," he assured them. "We just need to get to the top."

"Easier said than done," worried Hound, gazing up the cliff face. "A thirty-second hologram will last us until we get to the top, but after that we're in plain sight of Megatron... and any other Decepticons up there."

Cirrus tapped her lower jaw with her claw, pondering. "How far can you project your holograms, Hound?"

"Quite a ways. But the farther I go, the more power it takes. Why?"

"Perhaps, instead of using the hologram to hide us on the way up, you can use it to distract Megatron and his troops and lead them away. That way we can confront the Queen without also having to face Decepticons."

"Hmmm..." Hound did a little pondering of his own. "That could work. Means we'll have to be really quick going up the cliff, so we don't attract attention."

"Certainly the Decepticons won't question a few dragons just going about their business," said Pan. "As for you two... if we carry you in our claws, between us and the cliff face, that will reduce your chances of being spotted."

"Sounds kinda risky," Bluestreak pointed out nervously.

"We have to chance it," Sinistra replied. "We have no choice."

"All right, here goes nothing," said Hound, aiming his projector at the top of the cliff. Bluestreak magnified his vision to get a better look at the group gathered atop the ridge -- Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, and an iridescent white dragon wearing a jeweled faceplate.

_That's the dragon I first saw!_ he realized. _I saw the Dragon Queen!_

"Bluestreak, shut your mouth before you start catching bugs," Cirrus advised him, amusement in her voice. "And brace yourself, we're about to fly."

Bluestreak tensed instinctively as claws wrapped around his upper arms, close to the shoulders. He did his best not to struggle, reminding himself that these dragons were on their side.

"Autobot scum!" The screech from atop the cliff could only belong to Starscream, and Bluestreak looked up to see the red-and-white Seeker whirl and fire at the yellow form that had suddenly popped out from behind a clump of trees. The holographic image of Bumblebee grinned cheekily at the Decepticons, made a rude face, and bolted. Starscream immediately gave chase, firing wildly. Megatron and Soundwave were right behind, Megatron bellowing for the Autobot to be scrapped on the spot.

"Now!" Hound ordered.

Sinistra grabbed Hound and pumped her wings, rising into the air. Cirrus also launched herself skyward, grip tightening on Bluestreak. The gunner suppressed a yelp as his equilibrium systems lurched at the move, and he had to offline his optics to keep from getting sick. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be airborne, and he was rather forcefully reminded why he hated flying -- having no solid ground beneath him was unsettling, bordering on terrifying.

Finally his feet touched ground again, and he staggered, flailing to catch his balance, as Cirrus released him. He onlined his optics to see Sinistra set Hound down to his right and Pan land gracefully on his left. In front of them, the white dragon was crouched like an electro-panther, gathering herself to spring, but even as he watched she gradually relaxed and some of the angry fire left her eyes.

"Autobots," she breathed in relief. "And Pan... oh Pan..."

"Lady Phantasma," Pan murmured, stepping forward and touching muzzles with her.

Phantasma gave a low, soft growl that was almost a purr, then pulled away. "It's not safe here. Megatron could return at any moment. Follow me." And she turned and loped toward the trees, obviously expecting them to follow.

Bluestreak and Hound took a few steps after her, but Bluestreak stopped in his tracks when he realized the dragons weren't following. He turned to see them looking after the Queen with deeply torn expressions, as if they wished to follow her but something was holding her back.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"How can we trust her?" asked Cirrus in a pained voice. "The last time I followed her, I ended up a slave..."

Phantasma turned to look at her fellow dragons, sighing deeply. "I do not blame you for mistrusting me. Tiamut knows I have acted shamefully toward my people. But I promise you, an explanation is forthcoming."

Pan nodded and loped after her. Sinistra and Cirrus exchanged suspicious looks but followed.

The white dragon led the group into a copse of trees before turning to face them. "Are we truly alone? I don't want to find out that the blue one's minions are spying on us..."

Hound did a quick scan of the area before nodding. "We're clear."

She sighed again, this time in relief. "I will begin by offering my most sincere apologies to my people. I have acted shamefully, and I will regret this decision I have made for the rest of my life."

"Shamefully indeed," Sinistra hissed. "You reduced our kind, once lauded for our independence and nobility, into war beasts in service to a mad tyrant! How do you expect us to forgive this? Because of you we have been forced to submit ourselves to Megatron's demands, robbed of our free will, even of our voices..."

"Sinistra, please," Pan pleaded. "Let her finish."

Phantasma shook her head. "She has every right to be angry, Pan. It is my error that caused this pain, both to my people and to the Autobots."

"Why did you do it?" asked Bluestreak. "There's got to be a reason for this. Did Megatron promise you something in return?"

"Not a promise," Phantasma replied, eyes sparkling with anger. "A threat. He stole my egg."

A collective gasp rose from the dragons at this statement. Hound's jaw dropped, and had it been possible for a Cybertronian to go pale he would have bleached white on the spot. Only Bluestreak remained stumped.

"Your egg?" he repeated, puzzled.

"Some organics reproduce by laying eggs," Hound explained quickly. "You know, pods where their young develop and grow until they're able to survive on their own, at which point they hatch."

"I know that, but... oh, OH!" His spark lurched in sudden sympathy and concern as he finally realized just what Phantasma had said. "He's holding your baby hostage?"

She nodded, lowering her head.

"This changes everything!" Cirrus exclaimed. "Pan, why did you never mention this?"

"I didn't know!" Pan protested. "We suspected she might be carrying an egg before we parted, but I didn't know she had laid while in Russia!"

"Start at the beginning," Sinistra requested. "How did this happen?"

"As Pan said, we suspected an egg was on its way before I left him, but we weren't sure -- dragons don't exactly show they're carrying like some creatures do. The territorial dispute in Russia could not wait, however, and despite my concerns I went there to settle the matter. While there, I gave birth and left the egg in the care of another female while I finished settling the land dispute. The plan was to retrieve my egg and return straight to my consort, so we could finish tending the egg together until it hatched.

"But when I returned to the cavern, it was to find the egg's nurse dead and Megatron in the process of appropriating it for himself. I think he mistook it for an artifact of some kind... but when I attacked him, trying to rescue my child, he guessed the truth. And from there... you can guess the rest."

"What exactly are the terms of this deal you cut with him?" asked Hound. "Just that you'll allow him control of the dragons in return for not hurting the egg?"

"And if I attack him, my child's life is forfeit," Phantasma added, head low. "He does allow me to go uncollared -- a 'concession,' he calls it. I quickly came to realize that my freedom came at a terrible price. By allowing me to remain free of his control, he gives the dragons the impression that I am working with him of my own free will. Thus, my people will not hate him for subjecting them, but me for allowing it to happen at all. And it's a ploy that's clearly worked." Her voice was quiet now, heavy with agony. "Whenever they gaze at me, it's with purest hatred. And I cannot blame them for their anger. I selfishly gave up my kind's freedom for my own sake."

"No, my love," Pan assured her, pressing his cheek to hers. "You did it for our child. That is not selfish, that is love. What dragon who has ever tended a nest or hatched an egg can argue with your decision?"

"And it isn't just the child at stake," Cirrus pointed out. "It's the future of our race. This isn't merely a child -- if it's female, it's the heir to the throne. Phantasma acted not only to save her egg, but to ensure the continuation of the royal bloodline. We cannot hate her any longer... or at least, iI/i cannot hate her any longer."

"Neither can I," Sinistra conceded. "Our mission is clear now -- we must rescue the egg."

"But what about the computer?" asked Bluestreak. "If we save the egg, Megatron's still got the dragons under control. We've got to disable the computer that's controlling them and free them..."

"If Megatron loses control of the dragons, he'll have the egg destroyed in retaliation," Hound countered. "We've got to make sure the egg isn't in danger before we do anything about the computer or the control devices."

"Computer?" repeated Phantasma. "What are you talking about?"

"Our scientists believe there's a central computer system controlling all the collars," Hound explained. "We had hoped you would know where it is."

"I know nothing about a computer," she replied, "but I know exactly what controls my people. The collars are manipulated by the blue one, whom Megatron calls Soundwave."

Hound slapped a palm against his helm. "Of course! It makes sense! Soundwave is Megatron's most trusted hench-mech, and he's also a communications officer. He'd be perfectly capable of transmitting to every control device, and receiving data and feedback from each device in return. Doesn't explain how Megatron's able to keep them under control while Soundwave's recharging, though... theoretically, the dragons should be able to think and act for themselves while Soundwave's CPU is offline and can't transmit orders..."

"Unless Soundwave just hasn't recharged the whole time," Bluestreak pointed out. "If a mech just keeps his fuel levels high enough, he can avoid having to recharge at all."

Hound nodded, looking grave. "So we've got to take out Soundwave. Deactivate him or, at the very least, knock him out. That should cut off his signals to the collars long enough for the dragons to snap out of his control."

"And just how do you propose we do that?" demanded Sinistra. "Especially with the Queen's egg at stake?"

Before Hound could answer, his and Bluestreak's comm units went off.

/Bluestreak, Hound, report!/ Prowl barked.

"We're here!" Bluestreak replied, speaking aloud for the dragons' benefit. "What's going on?"

/Megatron's initiated the second stage of his attack/ Prowl replied, voice brisk in an effort to hold back his concern. /We've got dragons and Decepticons trying to force their way through all the base entrances. We're holding them back as best we can, but we can't do so much longer. How close are you to shutting down the computer?/

"It's not a computer, it's Soundwave!" Bluestreak replied. "Soundwave's controlling the dragons. We've got to take him out to free them. Oh, and Megatron's got the Dragon Queen's egg! And he'll kill it if he loses control of the dragons!"

/I see/ Prowl replied, sounding interested but not exactly surprised. /Very well. Your main objective is now to find and retrieve the egg, and finding and offlining Soundwave your secondary objective. Alert me as soon as you've accomplished the first objective. Until then I'm issuing a no-fire command toward Soundwave... for the moment, at least./

"Roger, Prowl," Hound told him. "Out." Once Prowl had cut off the communiqué, he turned to the dragons. "Plan's changed. We're going to find the egg. The Autobots'll take out Soundwave once we've got it."

"Easier said than done," Sinistra muttered. "Where is the egg? Back at the Nemesis?"

"Megatron will have taken it with him," Phantasma corrected. "To ensure it remains in his possession. It should be close by, but under guard."

"Then what are we waiting for?" asked Bluestreak. "Let's go egg-hunting!"

***

"Main doors are down!" screamed Red Alert, frantically stating the obvious as the doors to the base entrance collapsed into a molten heap under the steady barrage of dragonfire.

"Close the secondary doors!" barked Prowl. "Now!"

The secondary doors slammed shut, but not before two dragons had gotten through and the Decepticons had gotten off several shots. Ironhide reeled backward, smoke pluming from one shoulder, and stayed on his feet only thanks to Trailbreaker grabbing his arm and steadying him. Heth and Ignatius pounced on the dragons, grappling and clawing at the collars around their necks.

"Too close," hissed Red Alert, optics bright with alarm and sensor horns flashing anxiously. "Much too close. And those secondary doors will not hold for long!"

Cliffjumper's voice sounded over the comm, high with panic. /Got another breach at the topside hatch entrance! Slaggin' Seekers and a big yellow dragon! Brawn's down, Seaspray's down, Windcharger's lost an arm.../ Sounds of blaster fire and reptilian screams drowned him out for a fuel-pump-stopping moment. /Okay, got 'em beat back for the moment, but we're droppin' like turbo-gnats here! We gotta start shootin' to kill!/

/No/ Prowl told him flatly. /Shoot only to disable unless I say otherwise./ Privately, however, he feared it would only be a matter of minutes before they were forced to take deadly action against their attackers.

Heth and Ignatius finally stepped back, tossing aside the mangled remains of the intruders' collars. The dragons, one slate-gray and the other pale blue with black spots down its sides, shook themselves and stared at the Autobots in bewilderment.

"Brief them on the situation quickly," Prowl told Heth. "Then see if they're willing to help us."

"They will be," Ignatius assured Prowl. "I doubt you'll find a single dragon who actually enjoys working for the Decepticons."

Again Prowl's radio went off. /Hot Spot reporting in. Got a couple dragons free, but we're all a little scorched here. Got a cluster of 'em within sights of the exterior guns, though. Orders?/

/Keep them in your sights, but do not fire until I give the order/ Prowl replied. /We have GOT to give Hound and Bluestreak more time./

/Okay, but I don't know how much longer we can hold out here/ Hot Spot warned him.

The secondary doors shuddered, then began to groan and shriek as claws tore at them. Prowl raised his acid rifle, ready to fire.

"We're gonna be Pit-slag if this keeps up," Ironhide growled. "Prowl, we can't hold back forever."

"I know," Prowl replied. "But I want to save deadly force as a last resort..."

"We're runnin' outta options, Prowl!" Ironhide barked. "What's more important, savin' th' dragons or savin' Cybertron?"

"It depends on whether you're a dragon or a Cybertronian, I suppose," Ignatius informed him acidly.

"Enough," Prowl ordered. "I'm giving Hound and Bluestreak five more minutes. If they haven't achieved their objective by that time, we find and take out Soundwave. If we're unable to do that... then we shoot to kill."

***

"Aw, you've gotta be kidding me," Bluestreak moaned.

Phantasma had led their party to a box canyon not far from the Ark, the high cliff walls serving to isolate it well from the battlefield. From their hiding place behind a scree of broken rock the gathered dragons and Autobots could make out the reddish-gold shape of the egg, nestled within a protective force field. Far easier to see than the egg were the hulking forms of Devastator and Menasor, looming ominously on either side of their unlikely hostage. Bluestreak could hardly believe that Megatron thought the task of guarding the egg would need not one, but TWO entire combiner teams... and he couldn't imagine just HOW they could defeat them without Superion or Defensor's help.

"Seems like overkill," Sinistra remarked, gazing up at Devastator as the vast green-and-violet gestalt scratched idly at one elbow joint.

"With the dragons taking the heavy work off the Decepticons' shoulders, Megatron can afford to let his combiners do other jobs," Hound replied. "Such as making sure they don't lose their key advantage over the dragons."

Phantasma's tail swished from side to side like a cat's, and she crooned worriedly. "There must be a way to save my child. Please, Autobots... don't these giants have any weaknesses?"

"Well, they do have the size advantage," Hound admitted. "But we've got something they don't -- intellect. Neither of these guys are known for being especially smart, so we just need to think outside the box."

"I can distract 'em," Bluestreak offered, trying but failing to suppress a frightened quiver in his voice. "I still got my missiles, I can fire one in the distance and see if they go to investigate it... or I could just try shooting for their faces and see if that distracts them..."

"Good idea," Pan told him, giving a reptilian grin.

"Huh? Which one?"

"The distraction," Pan replied. "If we keep them occupied somehow, we can dash in and rescue the egg before they are the wiser."

Hound considered, cupping his chin in one hand. "One of us could go out there and get their attention, while the others sneak in and grab the egg. The trick would be the distracter getting out of the way before he gets stepped on..."

"Cirrus, get back here!" hissed Sinistra.

Bluestreak turned toward Cirrus... or where she had been standing just a few minutes ago. The black-and-white dragon had slipped away during the conversation and was ambling toward the gestalts, head high and step jaunty as if she hadn't a care in the world.

"She's going to get herself killed," moaned Pan.

"Or blow our cover," worried Hound. "We've got to stop her."

"There's no stopping her when she's got an idea in her head," Sinistra bemoaned, shaking her head. "She's not been an easy hatchling to control, but Tiamut knows her father and I try..."

"Wait, Cirrus is you and Ignatius' daughter?" asked Bluestreak, blinking in surprise.

Before Sinistra could reply, Cirrus spoke up. "Hey ugly! Yeah, you with the horns, I'm talking to you!"

Menasor glanced down at the dragon, wearing an expression of dull surprise. "Huh?"

Cirrus raised a forepaw and pointed at Devastator, who had just turned to see what all the fuss was about. "See him? He just said you're ugly and your manufacturer assembled you funny. You gonna let him get away with that?"

It took a moment for Menasor to process Cirrus' statement, but when his combined CPU finally computed it he gave a bellow of rage and charged the other combiner. "Menasor angry! Menasor SMASH!"

"Devastator not say..." began Devastator, but his protest was cut off by a massive fist smashing into his face. Any denials were immediately forgotten as the two laid into each other, punching and grappling, roaring as loud as their vocalizers would allow and causing the very air to shake. Cirrus darted out of the way of one massive foot and dashed back toward the others, grinning proudly.

"Not what I had in mind, but it works," Hound admitted, chuckling.

"Learn some restraint for the future, young lady," Sinistra chided. "But for now... well done."

"Thanks, Mother," Cirrus replied brightly.

"The egg!" screamed Phantasma.

Bluestreak couldn't help but flinch as Devastator's foot came down barely a yard from the egg, causing it to jolt and shake from the vibration of the impact. Without stopping to think it over, he transformed and bolted into the canyon, weaving around the gestalts and sliding to a halt near the egg. He quickly unfolded into his robot mode, pulled out his pistol, and fired at the shield generator, making the shield flicker and vanish. Then he scooped the egg up, surprised momentarily by how warm it felt...

Claws gripped his shoulders again, and he felt himself whisked away just as Menosar slammed into the ground where he had been standing half a second ago.

"Are you all right?" Phantasma demanded as she made sure her grip on Bluestreak was secure.

"Yeah," he assured her. "So's your egg, don't worry. Thanks, by the way."

"My motivations were purely self-serving," she demurred. "Had you been crushed, the egg would have perished with you."

"It's fine, don't worry," he assured her, looking down to inspect the smooth warm mass in his arms. Roughly the size of Bumblebee's alt mode, its shell was a metallic reddish-copper with swirls of bright gold across it, and felt smooth as marble. Despite its shape, he wouldn't have taken it for an egg at first glance -- it looked more like some kind of metal alloy and felt more like a sun-warmed stone. Small wonder Megatron had mistaken it for an artifact of some kind...

Phantasma gave a startled roar and backwinged suddenly, braking in midair. Bluestreak yelped as the action jerked painfully at his shoulders, but kept his grip on the egg anyhow. What was going on...

"Phantasma!" Megatron himself had risen into the air and now faced the Dragon Queen, cannon aimed directly at her. "Make any sudden moves and you AND your spawn are slag!"

"I TOLD you she would turn on us, Megatron," sneered Starscream, gliding up to hover beside his leader with a smug look on his faceplate. Soundwave rose to loom just behind the Air Commander, silent and expressionless as ever.

"If I had wanted your idiotic comments, Starscream, I would have asked for them!" Megatron snapped.

"It's over, Megatron," Phantasma hissed, tightening her grip on Bluestreak until he whimpered as the metal under her claws threatened to buckle. "I have my child back, and you have no more power over me. Release my people!"

"Do you honestly think I'll take orders from an organic?" demanded Megatron. "The dragons are mine to do with as I see fit -- to keep on as war beasts, or to exterminate if I so deem it necessary! You have renounced your control over your people, Phantasma... and you have outlived your usefulness to me."

Bluestreak's hands were full, but he didn't need his hands to activate his shoulder cannons. One missile shrieked past his audial and straight for the cluster of Decepticons. Megatron's optics flared in surprise as he hurled himself out of the way of the oncoming warhead, and Starscream dove with a shriek in an effort to dodge. Soundwave twisted easily out of the path of the missile... only to put himself right in the path of Bluestreak's second missile.

The Datsun couldn't help but wince at the distorted scream Soundwave uttered as the missile detonated, shredding his left arm and leg and leaving jagged tears in his plating. His scarlet visor flashed wildly before going dim, and he dropped like a stone.

In the distance, roars of triumph and rage began to fill the air as the dragons felt Soundwave's control fall away... and the pained howls and curses of the Decepticons soon followed as the creatures turned on their captors.

"NO!" Megatron's own bellow of rage was touched with fear -- doubtless he realized that he had not only just lost his most powerful weapon, he had just gained an equally powerful enemy. "Decepticons retreat! Retreat!"

"I TOLD you so!" Starscream howled, determined to get in the last word, before transforming and tearing off. The other Decepticons were right behind, some of them bearing claw marks or charred blotches in their armor. Megatron himself dropped to the ground to grab Soundwave's chassis and throw it over his shoulder before flying off after them, and he paid for his delay with a set of gashes raked into his side by an irate Pan.

"Let him go," Phantasma ordered. "I think he's learned his lesson for now."

"Megatron never learns his lesson," Bluestreak pointed out. "But he may be more careful from here on out. I hope, anyhow."

Phantasma set Bluestreak down before the Ark, then touched down herself with a deep sigh. She took the egg from his arms and turned it over in her own claws, stroking the glittering shell. At last, with another sigh, she relaxed and curled herself around it, cradling it within the coils of her tail and draping a sheltering wing over it.

"Is it all right?" Bluestreak asked.

"Safe and well," she replied. "And due to hatch soon."

Hound ran up at that moment, cycling air quickly and the other three dragons close on his heels. "Are you two all right? We saw Megatron fly up to confront you, and then the explosion..."

"We're great!" Bluestreak replied, grinning despite himself. "Soundwave's out of action for awhile, that's a plus, right? And the dragons are free!"

"Wow," said Hound wonderingly. "Just... wow. Great job, Blue."

He ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed by the attention. "I didn't do anything that anyone else wouldn't have done..."

"You did it, and that's what counts," Hound told him, smiling.

All around the Ark dragons of every color imaginable landed and clustered together, their bugling roars ringing through the air as they crowed their victory. They touched muzzles with each other, assuring themselves that friends and loved ones were safe and whole, and twined necks with mates and children. Some didn't land right away but swooped and darted through the air, executing an aerial dance that would have made a Seeker jealous. It was an awe-inspiring sight, one that Bluestreak didn't want to tear his optics from...

/Bluestreak, Hound, come in./ Prowl's voice sounded exhausted and a little pained, yet relieved. /Status report./

/We're all right/ Bluestreak replied. /We got the egg and took out Soundwave./

/I gathered as much when the dragon attack ended rather abruptly/ Prowl noted. /We have a lot of wounded to look after, but thankfully nothing too serious. I think it's safe to declare today a victory./

/What do we do now, sir?/

/First order of business is full repairs to all our injured/ Prowl answered. /After that... I'm sure Prime is going to want to have a word with the Dragon Queen. For now, return to base./

/Yes sir. And Prowl?/

/Listening./

/Now do you believe me?/

Silence. Then /I seriously doubt now's the time for an "I told you so," Bluestreak./

/Sorry, I couldn't resist. Bluestreak out./

***

"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Queen Phantasma," Prime greeted, offering the white dragon a formal salute.

"A pleasure to finally make yours, Optimus Prime," she replied, dipping her head in a respectful bow. "And please, at ease sir. We are equals here."

Prime lowered his hand and nodded at his gathered officers to indicate they could do the same. Jazz, Prowl, Ironhide, and Red Alert had all gathered with the Prime for this first formal meeting with the leader of dragonkind and her mate. Ratchet, as medical officer, should have also been present, but after spending the last week in repair bay working his servos to the bare wiring, no one could deny that their chief medic deserved a long, undisturbed vacation. First Aid stood in for his superior, looking a bit nervous in the company of dragons and officers but maintaining a quiet dignity nonetheless.

Bluestreak was a different story -- the young gunner alternated between fidgeting nervously and staring at the dragons with a quiet awe. Despite having had more to do with the beasts than any other Autobot, he seemed utterly fascinated by the creatures as if he had just seen them for the first time. Prime would have asked Bluestreak to please leave the room under other circumstances, but Phantasma had specifically requested the Datsun be present for this meeting, and she didn't seem to mind his attentions.

"On behalf of Cybertron, I wish to offer an apology for all damages you and your kind suffered as a result of Megatron's cruelty," Prime continued. "Had we known what Megatron was doing to your kind, we would have put a stop to it much earlier."

"You would have had to know about our kind first," Pan replied, though his tone was amused rather than accusatory. "Still, we appreciate the thought."

"And we thank you for what you have done for us," Phantasma added. "You could have easily declared our kind a threat to yours and simply declared war on us. Instead, you worked to help us, and free us from Megatron. We owe you so much... and I owe you dearly for saving my child." She dipped her head and gently touched her muzzle to the egg cradled in her forepaws -- despite Sinistra and Cirrus volunteering to watch the egg during the meeting, she had insisted on bringing it with her. Doubtless her experience with Megatron had made her more protective than ever.

"There were dragons injured during the combat," Prowl noted. "How are they faring?"

"Recovering well," Pan replied. "Mostly burns, though that's nothing new to our kind -- the healers have those well in hand. Ignatius is still getting used to having a mechanical wing, but give him time and he'll be good as new. I must say, your engineers are a clever lot."

"We'll pass that compliment along," Prime replied. "And I hope your people recover fully from this incident, Phantasma. We would hate to think they suffered permanent damage of any kind from this."

"We are a strong people, Prime," Phantasma assured him. "We have survived through wars, natural disasters, attempted coups of power, and everything else Fate has chosen to afflict us with. We will recover from this, and emerge stronger than ever."

"Do the dragons still hate you for the deal you made..." asked Bluestreak, but shut up when Ironhide planted a foot on his.

"He's perfectly fine," Pan told the red Nissan. "And no, they do not hate the Queen, thank our First Mother. Some do not agree with her decision, but they cannot fault her for wanting to save her child and the royal bloodline..."

Phantasma gave a quick bark of surprise and rose, wings unfurling. Prime winced as every Autobot in the room instantly backed away, reaching for their guns. He couldn't really fault them, given recent events, but still, drawing a weapon on a visiting leader wasn't good for their image...

"The egg," she breathed, and leaned down to touch the end of her muzzle to it. All eyes and optics fell on the reddish-gold shell as cracks zig-zagged across its surface. Chips of shell began to fall away, revealing a muddy brown snout that poked out and sniffed at the air.

"Ugly color," remarked Red Alert, then yelped and glared as First Aid elbowed him into silence.

"All hatchlings start out brown," Pan explained. "They don't gain their colors for a few years."

More pieces of shell clattered to the ground, and the hatchling pushed its head free of its confinement, stretching its neck to its greatest length. It opened its mouth, revealing toothless pink gums and a tiny tongue, and gave a high gurgling squeak.

From all around Prime -- including from Ironhide, who would no doubt deny it to his dying day -- came a chorus of spark-felt "AWWWWWs."

Phantasma pressed her muzzle against the hatchling's nose, a gesture Prime realized was the draconian equivalent of an embrace, and purred softly. The dragonet chirped again and squirmed free from the remains of her shell, ungainly limbs and damp oversized wings flopping in a tangle on the floor. The Dragon Queen quickly reached out with a forepaw to help her to her feet, continuing to nuzzle it gently.

"He's kinda cute," Bluestreak said with a grin.

"She," Pan corrected. "It's a female hatchling. You can tell by the set of the tail." He beamed proudly and bent down to touch his own muzzle to the hatchling's. "Our daughter."

"And the heir to the dragon throne," Phantasma added, raising her head to regard Bluestreak. "I thank you again, my friend. You saved not only my child, but one of the royal bloodline. Your kind may be our allies... but you will be remembered as a true friend of dragonkind."

The gunner's jaw dropped, and for the first time Prime could recall he was struck speechless. "But... but..."

"If any Autobot deserves the honor, it is him," Prowl replied with a nod. "It was he who first alerted us to the dragons' existence, though we disbelieved him at first. And it was his actions that ultimately won this battle for us and for your kind. He is, to use the simplest available term, a hero."

Bluestreak's doorwings wilted, and he looked like he wanted to creep off and hide. "I was just doing what an Autobot should. Like Prime always says, everything sentient deserves freedom. Not just humans or Cybertronians, either."

"All the same," Phantasma replied, "you are always welcome among our kind." She looked down at the hatchling, who was now wobbling its way among the Autobots on unsteady legs, sniffing curiously at their feet. "It is a common custom among our kind to name our children after great heroes, but I don't think 'Bluestreak' is quite an acceptable name for a princess. Instead... Stella. In honor of our hero coming from the stars."

"Aw, shucks, ma'am..." Bluestreak mumbled, staring down at his feet and rubbing the back of his helm. Had Cybertronians possessed the ability to blush, he would have been as red in the face as Tracks.

Stella chose that moment to stumble against Bluestreak's foot, and she stared up at him with wide blue eyes. She chirped inquisitively and pawed at his foot, demanding his attention. The gunner's doorwings perked up a bit as he scooped up the little dragon and cupped her in his hands, a slight smile on his faceplate.

"Heya, little one," he cooed. "Nice to meet ya finally. Kinda hard to believe it was you hiding in that egg all the time..."

Stella gave a high-pitched little growl and grabbed his thumb in her jaws, mouthing it gently. Bluestreak laughed a little, then carefully set her back down. She toddled back to Phantasma, squeaking, and the white dragon reached out with a forepaw to gently draw her close.

"We will do all in our power to protect your kind from here on out, Phantasma," Prime assured her. "Especially your child. We failed the dragons once -- we won't do so again."

Phantasma nodded. "And we, in turn, will aid your kind where we can. It is the least we can do."

"We will let you know if we require your aid, Your Highness," Prime replied. "But for now... return to your people, and do what is necessary for them to recover from this incident."

"Are you sure you don't need our help?" asked Pan. "We DO feel indebted to you..."

"At the moment, we have no pressing matters that you can help us with," Prime replied, which was the truth. Not that there weren't pressing matters for the Autobots to deal with, but he had a feeling that the dragons would be of little help on some of them. Like just how the frag they were going to explain this whole mess to the human government when they inevitably came knocking to inquire about it...

**Dragons**

Dragon Queen Phantasma -- iridescent white with blue markings on wings; violet eyes

Dragon Queen's Consort Pan -- brown with yellow patches; green eyes

Dragon Princess Stella -- muddy brown; blue eyes

Wing-Commander Oberon -- male; green with lighter-green underbelly; orange eyes

Wing-Second Ignatius -- male; red mottled with gold; gold eyes

Sinistra -- female; blue with violet and green stripes; red eyes

Cirrus -- female; white and black piebald; blue eyes

Heth -- male; black with flecks of gray across flanks; red eyes

Ferrus -- male; gray mottled with brick red; black eyes

Tiberion -- male; gold with brown markings on wings and tan underbelly; green eyes


End file.
